


You've got the wrong Sin [Far Cry 5]

by Banana_Rex



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Blood and Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29446191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Banana_Rex/pseuds/Banana_Rex
Summary: Contains spoilers and gore.Because after hearing the voicemail Joseph left for John, and the comments from some of the NPCs about the tension between John and the Deputy, I couldn't help but write an alternate ending to the initial Confession sceneoops.Might have another chapter, but it depends on if people want one or not. For the moment it was more to scratch the itch I had after being rather annoyed with the lack of choice FC5 had.EDIT: ok, more chapters incoming
Relationships: Male Deputy | Judge/John Seed
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	1. Confession

* * *

Rook blinked, limbs still heavy from the sedating effects of the Bliss. Red light filtered through his lashes, a blurred form struggling at the opposite end of the room and - wait, was that Hudson?

His eyes snapped open as her tape muffled cries turned to screams, low whistling coming from outside the room. Where was this place? He couldn’t remember much after the Bliss bullet hit, something about him having put up a good fight, about a confession? The whistling grew louder and Rook growled as John Seed strode in, setting a box down on a nearby workbench. Hudson was trembling at this point, fresh tears welling up.

“My parents were the first ones to teach me about the power of Yes.” John’s voice cut through the suffocating stillness, and he watched Rook try to struggle free from the ropes binding him tightly, pulling out a stapler and - oh fuck, that was _skin_ he was pinning to the wood. “One night they took me into the kitchen, and they threw me on the ground, and I experienced pain after pain after _pain after **pain**_!” The stapler was slammed down, Hudson letting out a whimper in response. “And when I didn’t think I could take anymore?”

The youngest Seed brother withdrew his hand again, this time clutching what appeared to be a tattoo gun, slowly walking over towards Rook. He flicked a lamp on, the light briefly blinding. “Something broke free inside. I wasn’t scared, I was…clear.” Rook went to speak but John cut him off, voice turning angry, his fingers almost wringing the tattoo gun like a neck as he screwed the pieces together. Then he finally made eye contact.

“I looked up at them, and I started to laugh. All I could say was - Yes.” The gun whirred into action briefly, a high pitched and shrill sound, before it was put down again. Rook couldn’t help flinching as his shirt was ripped open by John, the brief display of fear causing the corner of the man’s mouth to twitch in satisfaction.

“I spent my whole life looking for more things to say ‘yes’ to. I opened up every hole in my body, and when those were filled,” John glanced at Rook’s chest, his fingers gently brushing the skin there, “I created more.”

The light touch had Rook flustered. The bruising to his face hid a blush that he felt heat his cheeks, and luckily it was taken as another sign of worry.

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_ There was something about this whole situation, the sight of John in front of him, and - Hudson’s cries broke through again, immediately breaking the mood. _Thank fuck._

It took all of Rook’s strength to suppress those thoughts as John started cleaning his chest, no doubt in preparation for the impending tattoo session he called his ‘Confession’. The man was rambling on about etching sin into flesh, cutting it out, but it was only until he stepped away and the smell of lingering cologne lifted that Rook began to pay attention again.

Especially when he withdrew a rather nasty looking screwdriver, the point filed sharp. The self proclaimed Herald began pacing between them, brandishing the tool like a weapon, seemingly addressing the heavens.

“I’m going to teach you courage. Teach you how to say yes. So you can confront your weaknesses.” His voice rose in anger, a quick glance and gesture at Hudson.

 _Wait_. Was he calling Hudson a weakness of his? The more Rook listened, the more it sounded like the whole speech was being addressed to him rather than them both, and as John strode to the workbench and pointed the screwdriver directly at him, it only worked to strengthen these thoughts.

“Confront your sin. You will swim across an _ocean_ of pain, and emerge, _free_.”

“I’m ok thanks.” Rook couldn’t stop himself from whispering, and the next second the makeshift blade was touching his chest - just enough to cause pain, but not enough to bleed - John’s expression filled with rage.

“Because only then can you truly begin to atone, Rook.”

 _Ah shit._ That was enough to make him shiver, skin itching from the sudden heat he felt, and this time John noticed the redness under the bruises. He smiled menacingly. Meanwhile Hudson - jeesh, why wouldn’t she just _shut up?!_ \- screamed and rattled at her bindings, and John returned to where he’d been standing. Placing a hand on the desk, the other tossing the screwdriver away, he tilted his body to one side almost seductively. _What was he playing at? Of course he’d noticed how Rook had reacted, and was using that to his advantage. So much for being above sins._

“So.” John’s voice was low and husky, enticing. “Who wants to go first. Hm?”

It was painfully apparent from the way the man was staring him down that this wasn’t a question, so Rook gave a quick nod - it would spare his friend Hudson from further torture for now regardless, he’d heard it being played tauntingly over the radios from time to time. A cruel trick to try to get him to rush in like a hero to save her - not that it mattered anymore. In the end, all it took was a lucky shot and a Bliss bullet, and now he was in the Seeds’ clutches once again. Hopefully this wouldn’t at all be like the twisted mind games Jacob played. His agreement had sent John into an outburst of glee, the man practically jumping from where he stood.

“Yes. YES! You’re not going to regret this, I promise.” He sounded almost…relieved? “Now, before we begin, I think it’s only proper that Deputy Hudson goes back to her room.” John unlocked the brakes on her chair, wheeling it across the room to pause before Rook on his way out. He tutted at her condescendingly whilst she wailed, shushing her with words as if speaking to a child. “I’ll be right back.”

Then Rook was left alone. For a brief second he considered staying put, until the quiet drip, drip of the blood from the skin stapled to the wood nearby made him reconsider. Like hell he was going to let John carve him up. Shuffling forwards, he slowly moved his chair across the floor, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. If he could get out of these bindings, maybe he’d be able to find a weapon….

Unfortunately the room was too dark outside of the main area to see clearly, and following a brief tumble, Rook found himself in a heap at the bottom of some stairs. He groaned.

“Great, just great.” The fall had loosened his bindings somewhat, but there was definitely a broken rib or two.

 _I’ve had worse._ He wriggled an arm out of the rope, going to undo the rest of it, but was stopped by a sudden but firm grip around his wrist. _Shit_.

“Rook.” _Oh, fuck._ He’d thought John would take much longer than that, but the guy obviously had other thoughts. “You’re in the middle of my bunker. How were you going to escape, huh?”

“I would’ve found a way.” Rook snarled back, several guards untying the rest of his bonds and pulling him back up the stairs. They’d obviously learnt from the earlier mistake of using a chair with wheels - the idiots - as he was quickly restrained into one bolted to the floor.

“Rook, I’m not here to take your life.”

“Really? It certainly doesn’t look that way right now, from where I’m sitting.”

“- I’m here to give it to you.” John gestured for the guards to leave, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sighed, bending over to dig his fingernails into Rook’s arms, deep enough to gouge. “I’m going to open you, and pour your worst fears inside of you, and as you -”

“-not the best sales pitch I’ve heard, agh!-”

“- _choke_ -” Rook gasped, a rope tugging tight around his throat, causing him to struggle for air. John’s expression was terrifying, and for a second it felt like he was _actually_ going to kill him right there. Then the pressure released. “Your sins will reveal themselves, and only then will you understand the Power of Yes.” He paused for a second, regarding Rook’s bare chest, then picked up the tattoo gun. “But I know what your Sin is, Rook. It’s Wrath. You’ve proven that enough already, and it’s time -” the gun whirred into action, dipping towards his skin “- time for you to face your Sin.”

An uncomfortable blend of emotions began writhing deep within Rook, something he’d long felt growing, building up since the first moment he’d seen John at the church on the fateful night of the raid. He’d found himself looking forward to the man’s taunts over the radio, had done things just to provoke them. The mess of feelings bubbled up, and before the ink could drive itself into his flesh, Rook began to laugh.

“What?” John was stunned, watching as he did so. The gun was switched off, tossed aside, and he regarded him with a quizzical expression, obviously confused.

“You’re wrong.” Shaking his head, Rook stared up at the man. “Oh, you have _no_ idea how wrong you are.”

That seemed to inflame the situation, the tattoo gun being traded in favour of a rather nasty looking scalpel. “Let me cut it so deep that you’ll be forced to reconsider -”

“- I mean my Sin, John.” There was a long pause.

“Oh.” He took a step back, expression growing calm, thoughtful even, but the blade was still poised to strike. “Does this mean you’re ready to Confess?” Rook rolled his eyes.

“Ah, what the hell, it's not like I have much to lose right now. My Sin isn’t Wrath, it’s Lust.”

“Surely you don’t believe that to be true -”

“- I just wanted you to notice me!” Rook snapped, then paled. “I-I mean, this - this doesn’t-” His voice caught in his throat, panic rising at the thought of what the Cult thought of a man having feelings for another, especially as their methods of showing disapproval were incredibly unpleasant for the individual concerned. _Fuck, save yourself_. “- you’re right, it’s Wrath, ok? Carve it in and get it over with!”

But John just stared, a predatory glint in his eyes. “Do you mock the Confession?” His voice sounded angry, but there was something else beneath it, something Rook couldn’t quite place. “You will tell me the truth, or I will pull it out of you piece -” Rook screamed as the knife stabbed deep into his shoulder, “-by bloody piece.”

“Ok fine, fine! Just - ngh - take that out, please!” Surprisingly John did, pressing some gauze forcefully over the wound, the blade sprinkling red over what was left of Rook’s shirt. “I was ready to run, to get as fucking far away as I could, find somewhere to hide. But then that video of yours?” He laughed, shaking his head. “What a stupid video. You were so good in it though, sounded better than I’d imagined when I’d seen you at the church, back when we tried to arrest your brother. And then after you yelled at me that first time on the radio, man, I just wanted to hear you again, so I did whatever I could to piss you off so that you would. How’s that for some fucked up foreplay, huh?”

An awkward silence followed. At this point, Rook was pretty sure he was fast heading towards a painful end - but John just looked at him, and his face just seemed… _sad_.

“You know, my brother told me he’d seen my death.”

_Ok, that was unexpected._

“He told me I needed to cast away my past, that the only thing that changed when I died,” the man seemed to crumble inside a little, “was, it was -”

“-was _what_ , John?”

The mood changed in a flash, one hand moving to cover Rook’s mouth, the other biting a line into the flesh beneath his left collarbone, blood spilling out. He screamed, cries suppressed by the firm grip. John dragged the scalpel down and across before lifting it, and Rook had enough time to reel before it started again.

 _Fuck it hurts, this hurts so bad!_ It was far worse than earlier, and didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, the blade coming up and down again and again. It was only when John reached the fourth and final letter than he realised what was happening, that it was his Sin being carved deep. Then it was finished, his tormentor tossing the scalpel away. Rook gasped as John released his grip.

“- he told me that it all depended on how much love I let into my heart.” Then suddenly the man’s hands were on either side of his face, lips firmly planted on his own, and Rook’s breath was stolen from him.

 _What’s happening?_ He could taste his own blood, metallic and sharp, and then - oh fuck, they were _kissing_ , and John’s tongue was against his, and - this was really happening, wasn’t it? The fresh agony from his wounds was numbed by the feeling of rising heat between them, was nothing in comparison to the urge, the need to be closer to the one he was kissing. Rook tried bringing his arms up as John straddled him, but was kept from doing so by his bindings.

Eventually they broke apart, John stepping back, wiping the blood from his face with one corner of his sleeve. “So you weren’t lying when you said your Sin was Lust.” Now that it was over, the pain of Rook’s injuries came back with a vengeance, and his vision began to blur and darken.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, head heavy. John appeared confused by this.

“Whatever are you sorry for?”

“That I kissed you, tempted you,” Rook winced, because he most _definitely_ had broken ribs, and the constant twinge in his side began to make him worry that something was bleeding out - especially since he appeared to be losing consciousness at an alarming rate. “I know that we’re both men, that your beliefs probably - they ah,” he coughed.

“Our faith welcomes all, Rook, I -” John stopped to rush forwards as Rook began coughing again, red splattering across the floor.

“Not doing so well…” he mumbled, then everything went dark.


	2. Wakeup

Waking up was…unexpected. Rook didn’t think he’d be seeing another day, and the lingering pain in his chest was enough evidence that this wasn’t all just a nice dream. He was lying on a bed somewhere - speaking of which, he didn’t realise they could be this soft - and it was evident from a glance around the well furnished room that he wasn’t in the bunker anymore.

It quickly became clear he wasn’t leaving anytime soon, as despite the luxurious setting, his wrists were bound up behind his head. A brief rattle and pull of the ropes didn’t do much except tighten them, and he hissed in annoyance.

“How are the mighty fallen,” Rook strained to look to where the voice was coming from, and paled as John strode into view, a curious smile lingering on his features, “and the weapons of war perished.”

“Thought you lot didn’t use the traditional Bible.” He vaguely remembered the phrase from being dragged to church as a kid, parents hiding his bruises with long sleeves and collars, whispered threats to behave. John didn’t know it, but they had a lot more in common than he knew.

“Touche.” Rook began to struggle when a syringe was pulled out, panic rising, as his wrist was gripped tight. “Hold still, damnit. It’s only antibiotics.”

“Why are you helping me?”

There was an awkward silence, Rook feeling increasingly on edge from the weight of John sat next to him, the bed dipping down so that his body had no choice but to fall slightly towards the man. He flinched as John reached out a hand to cup his cheek. “Your actions have consequences.” The touch was gentle, but firm enough to impart a sense of warning.

 _Actions like me fighting against your militia, or actions like_ \- Rook flushed involuntarily at the memory of the kiss. “So kill me then, and get it over with, just stop with your nonsense speeches already! You’re -” He reeled from the slap that came hard and fast, shocking him into silence. John just glared at him, face set into an angry frown, smile gone.

“I thought we’d made progress,” he muttered, then pressed a thumb against the scabbed over carving under Rook’s collarbone. Fresh blood began spilling out, a stark contrast against the white bedsheets, and the man moved to wipe it across Rook’s lips. “If we hide our sin, we hide ourselves. You will not hide any longer.” The words were familiar, having been said over the radio before, but they seemed to have more meaning now.

“S-sorry.” Rook felt helpless. He was so used to being the one with the power, taking over outposts and fighting off enemies with ease, but now here he was, at the complete mercy of John. The worst part was, he was beginning to enjoy it.

“Hmm,” John got up off the bed, wandering over to glance out the window, seemingly accepting this. “You have a habit of saying that recently.”

There was another lingering stretch of silence, then Rook took the chance to break it. “So why am I here? Why am I still alive, and what do you intend to do with me now I’ve confessed - hand me over to Joseph or,” he shuddered, “Jacob?”

“I have no intention of the sort.”

“Then _what_ , John? You can’t expect me to lie here and not ask for answers.” Rook couldn’t help but give a little sigh of relief at the fact he wasn’t on his way back to the red box, and the endless hell that was _only you._

“The Father teaches us to Confess our sins and atone, but then in the same breath, he tells me that I need to let more love into my heart. So what am I supposed to do when doing one thing conflicts with the other?” John turned to face him, the glare from the outside sun obscuring his expression, but Rook could hear the struggle in his voice.

“Go with what feels…right?” Truth be told, he had no idea what the right answer was. Hell, he himself had no clue what to make of the entire situation, given that he’d only recently been committed to the thought he’d be dying in that bunker, and now he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

“And what is right?”

“You.” The words escaped Rook without thought.

John closed the gap between them in an instant, hand round his throat, eyes searching. “Don’t say things just because you think that’s what I want to hear.”

 _This man is so damned confusing._ Rook just laughed, then with a quick shake of his head, pushed himself up off the bed to brush his lips against John’s before falling back again. “Then let me tell you with actions instead.”

The grip around his neck didn’t falter, but John’s features softened. The man bent down to plant a kiss over his Sin, teeth pulling at the raw edges, and Rook couldn’t help but let out a quiet moan at the feeling. This seemed to aggravate John, who by this point had climbed up onto the bed to pin him down. _Shit_. He could feel himself getting turned on by the whole thing. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. Any efforts to shift the man were made futile by the fact he was still sore from the events in the bunker, and he panicked as he tried to pull himself free from the bindings.

“You’re giving me conflicting messages here, Rook.”

“It’s just you, me, _this_ \- mmph.” The retort was cut short by another kiss, and in that moment Rook decided he didn’t give a damn what the resistance, or Eden’s Gate, or - hell, what anyone else but John thought. He let himself succumb to the emotion he’d been suppressing, wrapping his legs around the man.

“If this is what you mean,” John breathed, voice low and quiet by his ear, “then by all means, keep on Sinning.”

“Tha’was the plan,” he mumbled back. The kissing was getting more intense, and he found himself grinding his hips without meaning to, John growling in satisfaction. “Hurry up already.”

“Is that an order or a suggestion?” It was then that gunshots rang out, a cry raised. John heaved a sigh of annoyance as the compound alarms started blazing, before pulling himself off the bed and grabbing his pistol from a nearby cabinet. He pointed at Rook. “Stay there.”

 _Like I can go anywhere._ Rook tried not to roll his eyes, instead straining to catch a last glimpse of John as he disappeared out the door. Whoever had decided that this was a good time to attack, he’d personally kill them himself - once he was free, of course. The fighting seemed to drag on for ages, but eventually there was the sound of hurried footsteps outside the room. Hopefully whoever it was wouldn’t be putting a bullet in him.

Then the door slammed open with a crash.

“Rook!” Grace’s voice, loud and shocked, broke the silence, and the next moment she, Jerome and Nick were rushing up to him. “What the hell happened?”

“Just taking a nap,” he joked, voice weak.

“Fuck, what did he do to you, the asshole!” Nick sounded furious. Meanwhile, Rook tried not to hiss at the alcohol-soaked gauze being taped to the word Lust carved above his heart.

“Weird choice of sin he gave you,” Jerome muttered.

“They’re all crazy, what can I say, do you expect anything they do to make any sense?” It was a quick retort, but Jerome seemed to accept it. Rook really didn’t feel like explaining why it was that instead of Wrath right now. He’d been on their side for so long, helped them out, fought for the resistance, but he was pretty damn sure that they wouldn’t be understanding of his feelings for John Seed. One of them was cutting the ropes around his wrists free - hell, it’d left a mark - and after rubbing the circulation back into his fingers, Rook was helped to stand.

“Although you’re probably feeling weak Rook, we need to go now, before reinforcements arrive.”

_But I want to stay._

“Okay, okay, give me some help then.” He let Jerome hook an arm around his shoulder, putting his weight on them so that his rib fractures didn’t want to punish him for every step. A mild sense of worry began to tug at the back of Rook’s mind. “Did uh you get, well, um, John?”

“Sorry Rook, we missed the bastard. Peggies pulled him to safety. But don’t worry, we’ll get ‘im good next time, drag him to hell where he belongs!” Nick spat on the floor. Rook quickly turned his head away to hide the smile of relief that couldn’t be stopped, glad that John was still alive. The feeling lingered as he was rushed into a waiting car, the engine revving to pull away, and Rook had an uncomfortable realisation that maybe he’d have fought to stay put if it weren’t for his injuries.

He’d spent so long fighting for the resistance, antagonising John in hope for his taunts over the radio, but now that John knew his feelings? He was confused. The way Eden’s Gate were going about things was wrong, and he sure as hell didn’t want anything to do with the rest of the Seed family, but if he went back to how things were before, would John forgive him?

 _Stay here_ , the man had said, but his actions said No. And as the ranch disappeared into the distance, he felt himself tear in two.


	3. Mine

_“You have something of mine, sinners. I want it back.”_ The radio crackled with the all too familiar voice of John, his voice laced with rage.

“He wants me,” Rook stated, slumped against a rather motheaten sofa in the corner of the Spread Eagle bar. The words made his heart flutter a little, and he couldn’t help but repeat them to himself in his head, hoping it to be true. _He wants me._

“Well he can’t fucking have you.” He found it difficult to not yell ‘nobody asked you’ at Mary May, but managed to keep the thought down.

“You don’t know that,” Nick said, leaning over to the radio to mutter a response. “We stole nothing. Perhaps one of your faithful used the commotion to take from your fancy ass house, you lose a pair of your favourite sunglasses or summin?” There was a sharp inhale of breath on the other end of the line, John clearly not pleased by the way things were going.

" _You have Rook. Return him to me, or I swear, I will put you all in the ground by nightfall. You have been warned.”_

The line went dead. “Told you.” Rook sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, before knocking back a couple more painkillers. “You should’ve just left me there, I’m just gonna cause you trouble now.”

“He would have come for Fall’s End again at some point, Rook.” Jerome replied.

“Always the voice of reason aren’t you. Look, I’m in no shape to fight back at the moment. We won by the skin of our teeth last time, and he seems pretty set on coming after me. Maybe we can try a trade at least - me for Hudson. God knows she needs a break from his torture.”

“So you can take her place? No way, Rook! We lost good men saving you. And you’re more than just a person in all of this, you mean something to the resistance, a symbol. John knows that.” There was a jab at his chest, Grace’s eyes wild, rifle slung ready over her back. He could see she’d suffered a bullet wound recently - no doubt sustained during his rescue - and dipped his head in guilt. It was true, he’d witnessed how many people had thrown away their lives to take him from John’s ranch, but the feeling was soon swallowed by his own desires to be back with the man.

 _Guess I’ll need to add Greed to my list of Sins…wonder where John would carve that._ He felt a little flustered by the thought of confessing again, and pushed the images away before the blush could colour his cheeks. Jerome stood up.

“We need to get you out of Holland Valley, head North. All of us will have to lay low for a while.”

“But that’s Jacob’s territory,” Rook paled, mouth dry. He didn’t want to go back there, no way, the thought of being at the mercy of the music box again had him feeling sick. “I - I can’t.”

“It’s the last place they’ll expect you to be, and the Whitetails will be able to keep you safe. Everyone get ready to head out.” There were nods of agreement, Mary May the only one reluctant to leave, but a quick conversation with Jerome about the impending danger made her change her mind. Loading up into the few cars they had that were still roadworthy, Rook couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread about being back within Jacob’s clutches again. He just hoped the man wouldn’t notice he was there.

 _No shooting up outposts for a while._ Given that his ribs still needed time to heal, he wasn’t planning on causing trouble anytime soon.

Ideally they would have waited until it was dark, but due to John’s warning there was no time for waiting around, and the group were soon on their way towards the Whitetail mountains. There were a few tense moments when they thought patrols had spotted them, but luckily it wasn’t long before they crossed over. The road wound upwards, and they settled at Dansky cabin for the night. Grace insisted on keeping watch - much to Rook’s dismay, since he’d been toying with the idea of stealing a car and driving back himself - but the next couple of days passed by without much incident.

Their luck didn’t last, however. It ended with a roadblock ambush just after Hawkeye tunnel, and despite them all evading capture, they were split up whilst fleeing through the trees, Rook taking a long tumble down a particularly nasty cliff-edge. He was saved by the river at the bottom, and after a few narrow misses in the rapids, managed to drag himself out to safety.

“Great, just great.” He’d lost his weapons in the chaos, and the water had soaked him through to the point where he was shivering violently. It was a relief when he found an abandoned cabin, the door unlocked from when the owners had left in a hurry, cabinets still stocked with food and clothing. There were a few tense moments when he could’ve sworn he heard footsteps outside, but thankfully nothing came of it.

 _Probably just deer._ Hopefully not a bear - or worse, Chosen. _I told them not to come here, but would they listen? No!_ Rook’s frustration at the group choosing this hellhole to flee to was only worsened by his own anger at his lack of strength. The fall had given him fresh waves of pain, but he was confident that he’d managed to avoid more broken bones, just scrapes and gouges. The river had helped wash the dirt out from those also.

Rook found himself examining the wound John had given him in a mirror. The letters were reflected backwards, but the meaning was still there, and he found odd comfort in tracing the lines. He wondered how the man had reacted when he had found Fall’s End empty. Would he have been furious? Disappointed in him? Was it still possible for him to return, or had this act of defiance set a wall between them for good? Grimacing, Rook made his mind up to head back the following morning, alone. If he looked for the others, he might get shot - or worse, taken by Jacob - and he’d only slow them down with his injuries.

Unfortunately the decision was taken from him. Rook had spent the majority of the early hours heading South along the river, but he’d been spotted by a patrol helicopter, and was now fleeing for his life. A barrage of fire from the vehicle had him ducking into the trees, and he pushed through the pain to keep ahead of it.

 _“Lost visual on target, over.”_ The radio that Rook had tuned into the Cult’s frequencies flared at his hip. _“Male, appears to be unarmed, heading South down Osprey river.”_

“Not anymore I’m not,” Rook grimaced, scrabbling up the sides of the valley. It was agony using his arms to pull himself upwards, but it was better than being shot full of lead, and once he managed to get to the road, maybe he’d be able to steal a car to continue - or so he’d hoped.

“Fuck.” The sounds of safeties being clicked off greeted Rook as he finally crawled out from the trees onto the overpass, his mouth turning dry. Of course he’d run into Chosen.

“Hands behind your head, sinner.” They didn’t know who he was, but that would likely mean he was about to become either riddled with bullets or Judge fodder. “No sudden moves.” In a last ditch attempt, Rook flicked the transmit button on his radio on as he brought his hands up, hoping that he was close enough to Holland Valley for the signal to reach where it was needed.

“John, help me! I’m -” the butt of a rifle connected with his head, and Rook was sent sprawling to the ground. The radio buzzed with silent static, and he lay there praying for an answer, for anything, a command to tell the Chosen to hold their -

 _“Hold your fire.”_ The radio crackled into life, but the welcome words sank like a stone as he recognised the voice. _"Long time no see, Deputy. It’s time for you to return home. Chosen, bring him in. Alive.”_

Rook screamed, a mixture of rage and overwhelming horror taking hold of him, shaking him to the core. He couldn’t go back there, _wouldn’t_ go back. “Fuck you all!” He launched himself at the Chosen that had just taken his radio from him, fist connecting with a jaw and sending the man spiraling away. “You won’t take me, never again!” Their partner grabbed at him, but he used their momentum to withdraw a knife from their belt, plunging it deep into their chest with a spray of blood. There was a sudden, white hot flash of agony at his ankle, and Rook tried to shake off the Judge that had its jaws clamped around it.

_“It’s no use fighting, Deputy, especially not when all I have to do is play your little tune…”_

“No, no, **no**!” Rook desperately tried to reach the radio in time, but the Judge’s grip held firm.

_“Only you -”_

The red mist descended, and Rook lost control, vaguely aware of himself crying out John’s name as he did so.


	4. Captured

“Wake up, little sheep.” Rook shivered at the sound of Jacob’s voice, trying his best to suppress the overwhelming urge to vomit, and glanced over to see the music box sat outside his cage. Frantic, he reached out for it, fingers brushing the edges of the wood, straining against the metal bars holding him back. He was just about to tilt it towards himself when a boot came down, brutally pinning his hand.

_He did that on purpose!_

“Did you think you were free?” The taunt was enough to make Rook’s blood boil, and he hissed in retaliation. Jacob let his hand go, bending down to pick up the box, regarding the wound on his chest with mild interest. “John seems to have gotten to you. Nice carving you’ve got going on there, and you were rather eager to call out his name. Pity Joseph has other plans for you,” he smirked, “ _only you_.”

Rook snarled at the words, fingers gripping the bars of his cage until his knuckles turned white, eyes focused on the dreaded box in Jacob’s grip. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” He shook his head, shoulders trembling. “Both you and Joseph.”

“ _Don’t_ -” he was dragged up to his feet roughly, knife pressed against his carotid in a thinly veiled threat, Jacob’s face full of malice, “- _ever_ -” the blade drew a thin trickle of blood, “- speak ill of The Father.” He pushed, Rook crashing into the dirt.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone!”

Jacob just laughed at that. “I told you, you’re not a hero. You are a tool.” His voice was flat and emotionless, eyes regarding Rook coldly with the look of a killer, of someone who didn’t view him as human. There was the telltale sound of the music box being wound up, and Rook scrabbled backwards, tried to get as far away as he could - but the feeling of cold steel on his back reminded him of where he was. Trapped.

“P-please don’t -” he pleaded, “-anything, _anything_ but that!” His heart hammered in his chest as Jacob’s fingers sat ready to open the box, ready to send him back to hell. But his words fell on deaf ears.

“The weak have their purpose…you’ll understand that soon enough.”

* * *

When Rook came to, he could feel the dried blood caking his limbs, embedded beneath his fingernails.

It wasn’t his own.

“You fought well.” There was a guard stationed outside his cell, busy cleaning her gun. “But you’ve still got a lot of training to go before you’re ready for your purpose.” Trying to ignore the sounds of the Judge gnawing on a corpse in the cell next to him, Rook sidled up to the woman, trying to see if he could reason with her.

“That’s Jacob’s fault for making me fight with broken ribs,” he snarled. The guard shot him a warning glance, clearly displeased with the tone in which he referred to her Herald. Guess not. He decided to try a different tactic instead.

“So uh, I have an important message for Jos - for _The Father_ , I mean.” he groaned inwardly at having to use the term, but he needed to make sure she listened. The guard stopped what she was doing.

“Our glorious Father does not need concern himself with sinners. If this is a trick of yours, I will personally make sure your punishment for the blasphemy is slow and severe, that -”

“- I have been through the Confession, you can see John marked me with my Sin.” Rook pulled his tattered shirt down, exposing the word Lust, trying to make her listen.

She paused. “Speak.” Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Rook tried to think of how best to phrase his next words to appease her.

“Please let The Father know that John has succeeded in guiding my wayward soul, but I still have more Sin to confess. I wish to do so.”

There was a moment as the guard considered his words, doubt flickering over her features for a moment, before her gaze settled on his carving and it softened. She stood up, moving to leave. “So be it. I will convey your message.”

_Thank fuck_. Rook leant against the bars of his cage, watching her walk away. He just hoped she wouldn’t speak to Jacob first, since he was pretty sure that the man wouldn’t be passing any such message on, not when he had other plans in mind.

* * *

He wasn’t sure when he’d drifted to sleep, but a sharp kick in his side - thankfully not the one with broken ribs - had him waking with a shout.

“Y’know Deputy…if it were up to me, you’d have been dead a long time ago.”

“Really? Then why don’t you stop trying to kill me,” Rook snapped his eyes open, shocked to see both Jacob and Joseph standing next to his cage. “Oh. You came.”

“No need to sound so shocked, my child.” Joseph’s words were as sickeningly sweet as ever, honey and venom intertwined, face framed by the yellow tinted glasses that seemed to be a permanent fixture. “I know you’re in pain. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh, hm?”

_Evidently. You just watched your brother slam his boot into me, and you were fine with that._ Rook fought the urge to say something back to the man.

“Pain. Sacrifice. These are all part of his test.”

He was growing frustrated with the rambling, annoyed that the one Seed brother that he wanted to see wasn’t there. “Where’s John?” This earned him an interested look from Joseph, who paused to whisper something to Jacob, the man swiftly moving away - but not before handing the dreaded music box over. Ignoring the preacher, Rook scanned the courtyard, hoping for a glimpse of the so-called inquisitor, but there was nothing, no sign of him. Joseph turned the box over in his hands, the motion catching Rook’s attention again.

“We only have to prove that we can serve God,” The dreaded, telltale twist as it was wound up, “no matter what He asks.” Rook lunged, grabbing the contraception from Joseph’s hands, scuttling back into the center of the cage with it held tight to his chest.

_Serves you right for being so close._

“Deputy…” A warning tone, Jacob back at his brother’s side and fixing him with a stare. Rook laughed.

“Damn you!” He took hold of the box, slamming it into the ground. “Damn you both!” Over and over, until the wood splintered and gears spilled out, shards puncturing his skin and making it bleed, but still he continued. He _hated_ the thing, hated what it stood for, what it had made him do. He ignored the pain, the commands for him to cease, until -

“Rook, stop!”

The voice took him by surprise. _Surely not?_ But when he looked up, hand drenched in red, there was John, standing in the courtyard. He was here.

“John!” His voice broke, strength he didn’t realise he still had forcing him to his feet, to rush against the side of his cage. “J-John, you came for me.” Ignoring the other Seed brothers nearby, Rook didn’t realise Jacob had gotten close until the door to his cell was opened and he was flung forward. The man stamped on his leg.

“He came so you could finish your Confession, _apparently_.” The man was obviously displeased that he’d not been involved in this up to now, and Rook almost felt sorry for the guard he’d told. “Then you can get on with your purpose unburdened.”

_No, **no**!_ \- the hope Rook had vanished, and he shot a pleading glance John’s way, desperate to claw his way out, to escape Jacob’s clutches. He twisted, shaking off the boot pinning his leg to the ground. There was alarmed shouts as Rook launched himself towards John, weapons raising to gun him down. But the man raised a hand to signal them to cease, his other resting protectively on Rook’s shoulder as he fell at the dirt by his feet, a welcome touch. “I’ll _never_ go back to you, Jacob!”

“You have no choice -” the man snarled, but stopped as John stepped forwards to stand between Rook and his brothers. “John, what are you doing?”

“It appears that the Deputy has chosen his Herald.” Joseph stated, one eyebrow raised as he regarded him questioningly, the words only serving to frustrate Jacob further. 

“But he is _my_ tool! We decided on his purpose, only he -”

“- enough.” The tone was stern, commanding. “You have done well John. And Deputy…if you harbour any ill intent, abuse this trust in any way, I will ensure you find your way back here to Jacob, one way or another. I trust you understand my meaning?”

“Crystal clear,” Rook muttered, shuddering at the thought, before a guard tied his hands behind his back - because evidently, John still didn’t completely believe his feelings - and allowed himself to be led to a waiting helicopter.

The relief he experienced as the veteran center faded into the distance was overwhelming.


	5. Atone

Resting his arms on the chair, Rook shifted slightly as he felt the cool of the antiseptic, John having chosen the area of lower back just above his hip. He glanced over his shoulder. The man was focused in his task, face set in an almost tranquil serenity.

“Are you ready to atone?”

“Yes.” Rook bit his lip, still uncomfortable with the weight that word carried. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he waited for the inevitable pain, but it took him by surprise nonetheless. “Fuckin’ - ngh…” There was a displeased tut from John at the outburst, then the cuts continued. The extra letter made all the difference, Rook burying his forehead in the smooth wood of the chair in an attempt to press through the agony, and it was only when the sting of alcohol was pressed against the wound that he realised it was over.

“You did well.” John reached over him with one arm to cradle his chin possessively, beard tickling as it brushed his skin. “Except for the slip of the tongue at the start, all things considered.”

“Hm. Is swearing a blasphemy at Eden’s Gate then?” Rook tried to hide the disappointment in his voice, but it was obvious.

“I’d just be careful who you display your inner rage to, lest they use it against you,” the man was beginning to sound more like a preacher again, and it was difficult not to roll his eyes at the comment, Rook managing to stop himself when he remembered the short-tempered John was still holding a scalpel. “After all, Wrath is a Sin.”

Rook twisted to face John, a wry smile plucking at the corners of his mouth. “Oh? You gonna carve that into me too?”

_Ok, wow. That came out way more flirty than planned._

“Maybe.” John pushed off from the chair, placing the bloodied rag and blade aside and washing his hands in a nearby basin. He paced around the room, seemingly lost in his thoughts, and Rook waited a while before attempting further conversation.

“When are you going to untie me?” Constantly having his wrists bound wasn’t doing much good for his circulation, although he understood why the Cult were wary of someone so well versed in killing. “You know, I only left Fall’s End because of the others. They basically forced me to go.”

“Really, Rook,” sighing, John rubbed his head in frustration, “for a man with such remarkable capability, you’re constantly doing what other folk tell you to do, even if it means putting yourself in danger.”

“Isn’t that basically what the Cult is about?”

“I -” John was lost for words.

“Look, this might be a bitter pill to swallow, uh,” he wasn’t sure why he was tempting fate, but it seemed as good a time as any to try, “you talk about casting away Sin, yet you’re so full of rage whenever I see you.” Rook laughed fondly. “Not that it’s a bad thing, honestly it’s rather endearing. You resonate with me due to that.”

_Okay, that was cheesy as hell. Moving on._

“All this violence, this dragging people into the water and forcing Confessions, don’t you think it’s, uh, just maybe, _maybe_ , the wrong way to go about things?” As soon as he said it, Rook regret his words, flinching at the visible flash of anger in John’s eyes. But he pushed forwards. “People don’t like being told what to do - they like having the decision to make that choice themselves. If you force someone to do something, even if it’s the right thing, they’re gonna want to do the opposite.”

There was an uneasy silence. John walked up to him, grabbing the scalpel and pointing it his way. The man looked furious, ready to strike. Taking a chance - like he hadn’t already placed himself in enough trouble already - Rook brought his bound wrists up, clasping his hands around John’s to guide the blade to his chest in an act of vulnerability. “You can’t deny that.”

The metal flashed, Rook wincing at the pain that was sure to follow - but none did. Instead he felt the ropes fall away, and as the blade clattered to the floor, he was surprised to see silent tears rolling down John’s cheeks. Without hesitation, he stood and pulled the man into an embrace.

“My brother never much approved of my methods. But after only ever knowing pain, how else was I to teach others to come to the same realisation?”

“You - we’ve both been seeking approval, validation,” Rook breathed, the words uncomfortable, raw, “always wanting to prove ourselves, wanting to be noticed. First our parents,” John shot a glance at him, realisation dawning on his features, “then for you - your brother, the Project. For me, I guess the Resistance and my short lived role as a Deputy. But how about we stop trying to please others? Just…do what you want for once.”

“But isn’t that the very nature of Sin?” His voice was slow, uncertain and close to breaking.

“It’s the nature of living.” Rook placed one hand on the side of John’s face, finger wiping away the tear that was there, their gazes meeting, searching. “What do _you_ want, John?”

“The same thing as you -” he traced the edges of the lettering under Rook’s collarbone, a smile breaking his features.

_Perhaps there was still hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could turn this all around. Save this man and his own friends, without picking a side._

“Maybe all that we know is coming to an end,” Rook muttered, their faces drawing closer, “but it doesn’t have to end in bloodshed. Let’s make our own path.”

Then they were kissing, and this was unlike any before. It was both desperate and tender at the same time, and as they broke for breath, arms wrapped around each other, John let out a sigh of relief, as if the world had lifted from his shoulders.


End file.
